Empath
by displacement
Summary: WIP An accident in the potions classroom leaves Snape horrified and Hermione confused as they deal with the consequences. Not a romantic pairing per se, but an exploration of two of my favorite Harry-verse characters. CHAPTER 2 is up.
1. Default Chapter

Empath

by Displacement

None of the characters within are owned by me, neither am I making a dime off this story. That honor goes to J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers.

* * *

Hermione sat crouched over the potions table she shared with Neville Longbottom. She wished, not for the first or last time, that either Ron or Harry, her two best friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were willing to switch seats with her for once. While Neville was a good friend of hers outside of this particular classroom, he irritated to her to no end while sitting beside her and attempting to brew potions.

It seemed a long time ago that her patience had run out with Neville when it came to the exact art of potions making. It didn't help that the potions professor, Severus Snape, took endless delight in constantly deducting house points from the two of them; from Neville for his abysmal potions and from Hermione for helping Neville either too much or too little (whichever it happened to be at the moment). 'At least he never takes off points for my _potions_,' she thought to herself somewhat smugly.

At the moment they were brewing the Filan potion, which caused the drinker to be able to see people's auras. Hermione's potion glowed slightly, giving off a faint orange light. She gently stirred it counterclockwise as the instructions indicated. This was her seventh year NEWT class; the potions were so difficult that the directions had to be followed meticulously in order to get anywhere close to the target. She heard Neville gulp as he prodded at his cauldron. She restrained herself from rolling her eyes and wondered for the millionth time how Neville had gotten into their NEWT class. Why was he even taking potions this year when it was no longer required of him? He hated potions and he was terrified of Professor Snape. His favorite classes were Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, she supposed if he was going into Herbology as a career it would be useful to know what the things he grew were being used for. It was just annoying that it had to detract from her own learning experience.

Looking over at his cauldron, she saw there was certainly a reason for alarm. The surface of his potion was a gloppy, grey mess. He needed two hands just to stir it, but that meant he had to stop stirring to add new ingredients. The directions clearly said to stir constantly, but that simply wasn't possible. Hermione saw him distractedly reach for the wrong ingredient. He was going to add fluxweed seed again, and not the poisonwood charcoal he was supposed to use.

"Neville, wait!" she cried. Instantly Professor Snape was standing at their table.

"What is going on here?" he hissed. "Longbottom, what have you done now? Twenty points from—"

But he never finished taking those house points. Frightened by Snape's sudden appearance, Neville dropped the handful of seeds he was holding straight into the cauldron. It began to rock violently on its base, spewing smoke and emitting a tone so high most of the students clapped their hands over their ears. Snape began to shout at everyone to leave, livid with anger, but his voice was soon drowned out by the now pulsing cauldron. The smoke spewing forth smelled like rotten eggs, the stench of it so overpowering she saw Ron dry heaving out of the corner of her eye.

Snape was gesturing wildly at both her and Neville, but soon she could hardly see either of them. A bright light poured from the cauldron and Hermione was blinded. All her senses were being overwhelmed; even her skin had somehow become ultra-sensitized. The feel of her robes against her arms was like fire. 'That's a strange side effect,' some distant part of her mind analyzed. Suddenly she knew, without a doubt, that the cauldron was going to explode. Before she could think about it she kicked over Neville's chair, toppling him to the ground. Belatedly she realized that everyone else was hidden behind their tables except her. And Snape, who reached over to shove her down just as the cauldron exploded. Both of them were drenched in the sticky substance. It felt like someone had baptized her in mud. She looked up at Snape, who was equally covered in the potion. A wave of terror crashed over her, a fear that was somehow disconnected to her own feelings. Oddly enough, she saw the same feeling reflected in Snape's face before both their eyes rolled back and they fainted together in a heap.

The classroom was now deadly silent, the contrast to the turmoil of a few seconds ago startling. Neville was the first to sit up, rubbing his eyes trying to get rid of the spots—he had stared directly into the cauldron before it had exploded, before Hermione had pushed him down.

"What—Hermione? Are you alright?"

Harry and Ron slowly sat up. They saw her and Snape lying together on the floor, Neville blinking down at them. Harry jumped up. "Quick!" he shouted, "we have to get them down to the infirmary!" He cast _Mobilicorpus_ on them and led them as quickly as he could out the door and through the shortest way he knew to the infirmary. He heard Ron behind him asking if everyone else was ok, then both he and Neville came pounding up the stairs after him.

A few minutes later and Hermione and Snape had been settled into hospital beds by the efficient medewitch Madam Pomfrey. She ran her wand over both Hermione and Professor Snape, frowning at what it told her.

"What!" cried Harry, fearing the worst. Madam Pomfrey shook herself and noticed the three boys with fearful looks on their faces.

"OUT!" she cried. "They'll both be fine, but I need you out of my way!" She swept off to her office to call for the Headmaster. Throwing a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace she stuck her head in the emerald flames and called for Dumbledore.

"Yes Poppy? Is everything alright?"

"No, there's been an accident. I have Hermione Granger and Severus here in the infirmary."

"Indeed? I shall be right there."

Madam Pomfrey returned to her patients, monitoring them once more with her wand when Dumbledore walked in, giving a kindly smile to the three boys still huddled before the door. "What happened, Poppy?" he murmured behind the medewitch.

"Oh!" Poppy jumped, startled. "Headmaster! They appear to have simply fainted, although I suspect there must be more to it than that. I've never known Severus to faint before in his life. He'd flay me alive if I even suggested it!"

Dumbledore's clear blue eyes twinkled at her for a moment before they turned thoughtful. "Boys," he finally called. "Could you please come in?" Harry, Ron and Neville came quickly through the door. Without sparing a glance at Snape they crowded around Hermione's bed.

"Will she be ok?" Ron asked anxiously.

"I believe so," Dumbledore replied. "Can you please tell me exactly what happened?" he asked pleasantly. His manner put the boys at ease as they began to believe that Hermione wasn't seriously injured.

Harry and Ron both looked at Neville. "I—I'm sorry sir," he said, stumbling over the words, "it's all my fault!" Neville described the accident, but was unable to tell the Headmaster exactly what he had done to cause it.

"Will they really be ok?" he finally asked.

"Yes, yes," Madame Pomfrey said impatiently. "They've merely fainted. However, I don't want to wake them until they're ready. They'll be all right, just give them a few minutes." The bell rang, signaling the end of class and lunch. "Go on with you, you three will be seeing Hermione before long."

Dumbledore winked at them on their way out the door.

* * *

With heavy footsteps they trudged down the stairs to the Great Hall. Silently they sat down and looked at their plates. All three looked worried as Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister, flung herself down between Ron and Neville. 

"Hi!" she chirruped at them. "Where's Hermione?"

"Potions accident," muttered Harry. Neville turned bright red.

"Is she going to be ok?" Ginny asked.

"That's what Madam Pomfrey says," replied Ron. "Snape's in there too."

"What happened?"

"Neville's cauldron exploded," Harry explained, looking apologetically towards his friend. "Both Hermione and Snape got a faceful and passed out. We just left her upstairs in the infirmary.

"But they're ok?" she persisted. Harry nodded. "Brilliant! I have potions next period," she explained, "but it'll probably be cancelled now." Neville laughed sheepishly and they all tucked into their lunches.

Upstairs in the infirmary Madam Pomfrey sucked her teeth in annoyance. She really didn't want to force them awake, the potion spilled on them might have some lingering effect that could mix badly with more magic. Even simple smelling salts might have worked, but something told her to wait and let them wake when they were ready. She had banished the potion that had lingered on their clothes and hair, but she hoped that someone had thought to collect a sample from the potions classroom. The only person that generally thought of such details was lying in front of her, dead to the world. If there was some long term effect it would be wise to have a sample on which to experiment. She moved to her office to floo Dumbledore, to ask if he had come to the same conclusion that she had.

Snape and Hermione were now alone, lying on beds fairly close to each other. Hermione was the first to show signs of waking, she groaned and her eyes began to shift under her eyelids. She cracked her eyes open to the all-too-familiar infirmary ceiling. Raising herself up, she saw a dark, greasy head lying on the pillow of the bed beside hers. She shifted slightly trying to sit up, the small movement causing her head to throb. The motion alerted Madam Pomfrey who came bustling out of her office.

"Well Miss Granger, decided to join the land of the living, have you?"

"What happened?" asked Hermione, perversely irritated at the woman's bubbling happiness and relief at seeing her awake.

"Well my dear, I was hoping you could tell me that." Hermione felt the curiosity rolling off her in waves. There was a pause as Hermione stared at her, momentarily confused. Something wasn't right.

"Longbottom," a voice growled, making them both jump in shock.

"Severus! You're awake as well. Splendid!"

"That infernal ninny exploded yet _another_ cauldron in my class." Hermione gasped as she caught the anger radiating from her potions professor. He sensed her surprise; she caught his surprise at her surprise.

"What in the name of Merlin's—" he stopped abruptly and stared at Hermione. "Miss Granger…" but he trailed off, apparently at a loss for words. Madam Pomfrey stifled a smile, she wasn't sure that she'd ever seen Severus unable to lash out at a student before. Or one of his colleagues for that matter. He turned to her quickly.

"Madam, do you mind? This is hardly an amusing situation!" She stared at him. Had she said that out loud?

"I must speak with the Headmaster," he finally gritted out through his tightly closed jaw. He began to sit up, despite Madam Pomfrey's glare, which to Hermione seemed to be extremely disapproving.

"I am perfectly fine Madam," he assured her, now standing beside his bed. She ran her wand over his head and torso one last time, and Hermione could pinpoint the exact moment she decided to allow him to leave. Snape seemed to notice it as well, if the smirk on his face was any indication. "Coming Miss Granger?" he sneered, never taking his eyes off Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione looked at the medewitch, who merely shrugged. "You're as well as he is my dear. I suggest that you stay here for a while and rest," she sniffed, "but physically there isn't anything wrong with either of you."

Hermione sensed the truth behind her words and looked to Snape. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed, she followed him out of the infirmary. She trailed after him, struggling to keep up with his long legged, sweeping pace. At the entrance to the Headmasters office was the imposing eagle statue. Snape gave the password, "_Ice Mice_." The secret passage behind the statue appeared as the stone steps began to revolve upwards. "Come Miss Granger." Hermione rolled her eyes behind his back and followed him up the stairs. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk when Snape and Hermione entered.

"Miss Granger! Severus! I'm so glad to see you awake! How are you feeling?" He gestured to the squashy red armchairs grouped in front of his desk. Hermione sat, but Snape paced back and forth behind her.

"That potion did something," Snape began suddenly. "Miss Granger, you tried to stop that bumbling fool, what was it that he did wrong?" Hermione bridled slightly at his treatment of her friend.

"It was the fluxweed seed, sir. He used too much of it. He was supposed to put charcoal in at that stage. But actually he was having other problems long before that."

"Yes, I know," he snapped. "If you had helped out your lab partner more this never would have happened."

Hermione couldn't believe that he was going to blame her for the accident. Of all the unfair treatment she'd suffered at the hands of this man, this was the worst. She schooled her features into the mask of blank, forced politeness she usually wore when forced to deal with him, but inside she was boiling with anger. Snape faltered and took a step back.

"What could that mean, Severus?" Dumbledore quickly interjected. Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his rather large nose briefly.

"The Filan potion allows the drinker to read auras. All the ingredients used are meant to increase the drinker's awareness of his surroundings—especially in terms of other people. Since being doused with that dreadful boy's mistake I have been able to sense the… feelings of everyone around me."

Hermione didn't need any extra senses to hear the disgust in his voice, but nevertheless she could feel his repulsion. Dumbledore looked at Hermione, and she felt his curiosity hit her at the same time as the realization that this had been happening with everyone around her since the accident. Stupid really, not to put it together before. Concentrating on Dumbledore she realized with a shock that she could pinpoint his curiosity as specifically relating to her own health. She heard Snape snort behind her and felt his derision.

"Surely you'd figured that out already Miss Granger. Is this really such a surprise?"

"No, _sir_, it's simply that I can feel more specific things from people than I realized." She cast as much sarcasm into her words as possible, something she couldn't recall ever doing to a teacher before. 'Why bother trying to hide my feelings from him,' she thought. 'Anyways, it won't work anymore.'

"Professor Dumbledore? How long is this going to last?"

He hesitated for a moment and she could practically hear the Headmaster's wheels turning.

"I'm afraid no one knows," she heard Snape's voice from behind her reply. To her amusement she felt his irritation that she hadn't asked _him_, the potions master. "That's the difficult thing about potions _accidents_ Miss Granger. No one knows what happened, therefore we don't yet know how to fix it."

"But sir, are you sure you want to fix it? This could come in handy couldn't it? Especially if Voldemort doesn't know about it." She felt his fury as she said the name of the Dark Lord. But she had been using his name since her fifth year, and last year she had seen Voldemort with her own eyes. She wasn't going to stop because it inconvenienced Snape.

"Perhaps Miss Granger is right. I would like for you to tell no one about these unexpected side effects. Try not to be too noticeable about it. I suspect this will be rather difficult, but let's try to keep it under wraps for as long as possible. Severus, if you do insist on experimenting, I'm sure Miss Granger would make an admirable laboratory assistant. That is, if you have the time, my dear."

Hermione lit up. "Really, sir?" She looked at Snape, who seemed repulsed at her enthusiasm. But she didn't care. More lab time without anyone around to distract her? Experimenting on an unknown potion? This was a dream come true, even if it meant extra time with Snape.

"Very well," the potions master agreed. Hermione sensed his displeasure, but ignored it (as she suspected the Headmaster was doing). It was only the start of the second term, while Hermione had already begun some reading to brush up for the NEWTS, she hadn't yet felt the need buckle down to any serious revision. She could certainly spare some time. Besides, she reasoned to herself, this will practically ensure that she got a NEWT or two in potions.

"Meet me in the lab tonight. Six o'clock. And don't be late, Miss Granger." He pierced Dumbledore with one last disapproving stare, and then swept out of the room.

Dumbledore sighed, thinking for a moment quietly to himself. Then he turned his twinkling blue eyes on Hermione. She suddenly laughed. "I can _feel_ you twinkle!" she exclaimed. He smiled gently down on her. "While that is indeed interesting to know Miss Granger, those are exactly the kind of outbursts that will give our game away." She looked down at her hands, but she felt his humor behind the words and knew he wasn't chastising her. "Now I believe lunch is nearly over, you must hurry if you are to eat anything. Keep up your strength Miss Granger, I have a feeling you might need it before the day is up. This may be rather trying for you. If you have any serious problems please talk to me or Professor Snape."

* * *

Hermione walked into the Great Hall, which at this late hour was nearly empty. She was extremely grateful for this, as the few people who lingered were enough to nearly overwhelm her. She now understood why she and Snape had passed out in the potions classroom, being subjected to the fear of everyone in the room had certainly been the cause of her mind shutting down. At the moment she couldn't feel specific emotions from any one person; they blended together into a kind of sensual cacophony. Looking intently at Anthony Goldstein, a sixth year Ravenclaw, she felt his exasperation at the girl sitting across from him rise above everyone else. Looking at the girl Hermione could feel the lust she was radiating. Stifling a giggle Hermione grabbed several apples from the Gryffindor table and made her way to History of Magic, her next class. After that she had Charms, and then she was done for the day. She longed to go the library and begin researching the ingredients they had used today, but she couldn't bring herself to skiv off class. 

She made it to the classroom just as the bell rang. Harry and Ron were in their customary seats at the back of the class and Hermione slid into the seat next to them. She smiled at their palpable relief. Neville turned anxiously towards her, she gave him an encouraging smile before she turned her attention to Professor Binns as he drifted through the blackboard.

Usually Hermione was one of the few students who managed to stay awake enough to take notes with Professor Binns droning away at them. Today, however, she was not only listening to Binns, but listening to all her classmates and their various levels of boredom. She was having a hard time blocking out the feelings because, although there were less people here than in the Great Hall, the feelings here were similar enough that they seemed to be amplifying each other. The boredom pressed in on her from all sides until she was filled with nothing but mind numbing languor. She stared off into space, her quill hanging loosely from her fingers. She wasn't sure how long she remained that way, but eventually Ron poked her in the side. "Oy, Hermione!" he whispered. "All right?" She felt his concern for her bleed through the boredom, shaking her out of her stupor. She nodded at him with a sheepish grin. He looked at her, with a disbelieving expression masking the annoyance he now felt, which she was sure stemmed from his not being able to copy her notes for the day.

Hermione tried to ignore the emotions of her classmates. She wasn't completely successful, she could feel everything as strongly by the end of class, although she kept their feelings from overtaking hers. That was something. Unfortunately, as she was so focused internally throughout the lesson she also missed all of its content.

Walking to Charms was easily the worst experience of the day. Students milled around, running to class, pausing in the hallway to greet one another, shouting and laughing together; Hermione felt the emotions of every person near her. One person would rise above the tide, and then fade away as they passed by, another person's feelings surging to take their place. Anger, fear, happiness, humor, anxiety, longing, triumph—each one slightly different, each one pressing in on her. Harry and Ron trailed behind her, arguing about some Quidditch maneuver. Ron was feeling indignant about something and Harry was feeling elated and light hearted as he obviously teased Ron. She focused on them in an attempt to block out everything else, and to an extent it worked. She could still hear everyone, but at least now she didn't want to break down crying in the hallway anymore.

Charms and dinner were both a blur for her as she tried to deflect questions about if she was ok while attempting to ignore the feelings from her fellow students. Finally it was time to go to the lab, she was actually looking forward to spending time alone with a person who might understand what she was going through.

She snorted to herself. Looking forward to seeing Snape. Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

* * *

The potions classroom was empty when she arrived, nervously she raised her hand to knock on Snape's office door. Before she could knock, however, she heard the occupant calling to her. "Come in Miss Granger." She pushed the door open and entered. "How did you…" the question trailed off as she looked at the smirk on his face. Understanding and annoyance flared within her at the same time. "Didn't the Headmaster tell us not to do things like that?" she asked. She sensed him warring with the desire to deduct points for her tone, but in the end he simply raised an eyebrow at her and rose from behind his desk. 

She took a glance around the office, she'd been there only once before. She had snuck in to steal boomslang skin for the polyjuice potion she, Harry and Ron had illegally brewed their second year. Best not to think about that now, she didn't want him correctly interpreting any of her feelings about _that_ incident. The weirdly glowing jars which lined his shelves were spotless and neatly ordered, labeled in his spiky handwriting.

He motioned for her to precede him through the office door and to the labs which adjoined the classroom. "This is my private workspace Miss Granger. You will not disturb anything in process."

She looked eagerly into the nearest cauldron. It was slowly bubbling, the surface silvery and highly reflective. She could just about make out her own face, strangely distorted. "Neither will you torture me with endless questions about things which do not concern you," he snapped, forestalling the question she was about to ask. She pushed down the shame and anger his tone provoked in her. She sensed that he was really just annoyed and not truly angry, but that didn't make it any easier to take, or give him the right to talk to her that way.

He huffed, shaking himself, and indicated the table against the far wall. "Here is where _our_ experiments shall take place. I only have a small sample of Longbottom's mess, but it will have to do." She blinked at him, thinking about the methods they might use to experiment on the sample.

"You said the explosion happened after he added double the amount of fluxweed seed, is that correct?" She nodded. "What else do you remember about the potion?"

"It was much too thick. It took both hands for him to stir it." She ignored his muttered, _idiot boy_, and continued. "The color of the potion didn't change, that's the same color it was before the fluxweed seed. I didn't see everything that he did of course, but I did notice that his salubrius root wasn't chopped very finely."

"Insufferable!" Snape's sudden outburst surprised her, although at this point his anger didn't. Concentrating on what he was radiating, she realized some of that anger was self directed. "In seven years that boy hasn't learned how to prepare the most basic potions ingredients! What do I have to do to get it through his thick head before he kills all of us?" At Hermione's shocked expression he seemed to get even angrier. "Even the Neanderthals had knives! I've seen him at dinner. He doesn't eat with his hands. He seems to get on well with cutlery. Do you know how many cauldrons he has destroyed in his time here? Twenty seven! At least one cauldron per term! That boy is an insufferable dunderhead!"

Hermione couldn't disagree with him, Neville had always annoyed her in potions. But he was still her friend, and she knew that half of his problem was with Snape. Neville had been frightened, chastised, and bullied so often that the mere thought of potions was enough to put him into a cold sweat. She became indignant for her friend, but before she could respond Snape cut her off.

"Oh, spare me your Gryffindor heroics!" He sneered at her rising flush. "It's bad enough to be forced to deal with students on a regular basis, but now I have to be subjected to their _feelings_ as well. It's enough to turn my stomach."

Hermione thought of how the boredom had amplified for her in Binn's class. Snape surely acted in other classes the same way he did in hers; today he must have stared down class after class who actively hated him. If he had experienced the same amplification and intrusion into her mind that she had, he probably spent all afternoon seething with hatred, or, even worse, seething with hatred towards his own self. Her stomach lurched and her mind whirled as she had a momentary glimpse into what it was like to be Snape. A stab of pity coursed through her. He suddenly looked at her intently, no trace of the sneer or any other maddeningly superior expression he usually wore. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He was simply… surprised, she eventually identified. 'Strange,' she thought.

Clearing his throat, he continued more calmly. "Yes, well. If we cannot recreate the potion exactly as it was, there is no point in even attempting it, as we need it for experimentation. And I doubt even Longbottom can tell us precisely what he did wrong." He paused, as if restraining himself from further comment. "I suggest we begin by researching the various interactions. But first I should like to ask you…" he trailed off, searching for the right words. "How did your afternoon go?" He spoke haltingly, slightly nervous and annoyed, as though asking someone about their day was a foreign language. Which for him it quite possibly was.

"Sir?" she asked, confused. He couldn't possibly mean what she thought he meant.

"Dumbledore," he responded quickly. "The Headmaster wishes me to make sure you are dealing with the … circumstances adequately." But she could feel his own grudging curiosity as well. "Besides," he added imperiously, "any additional information could be useful for out research."

Shaking herself, Hermione described her experiences in Binn's classroom, as well as her theories as to what made the overwhelming emotions of the student body easier or more difficult to manage.

"Interesting," he murmured. "We must find a way of blocking that which we do not wish to experience. We could use a potion, but I do not want to risk mixing anything we are unsure of—especially as we are still under the effects of the original potion. There might be a spell to block what we do not want, but it is bound to be unselective. Yes, the best thing is for us to learn to block the feelings of those around us, filter what we do not want into the background as it were. There are techniques for managing one's mind—meditative techniques—we shall find useful. We shall research that as well." He had been speaking softly, as if to himself, but now he turned to Hermione. "That is," he sneered, "unless you have anything to add, Miss Granger." She shook her head. "Indeed? Well, I am sure that is a first," and he swept out of the room.

She was unsure what to do. Did he want her to follow him? He had sounded almost human for a moment before returning to his usual sneering self.

"Come, Miss Granger."

Even from the other room she could feel his displeasure. Well, how was she to know? She allowed herself a moment of anger, unable to keep a touch of self-righteousness out of it. She heard his long-suffering, sarcastic sigh and, smiling to herself, she followed him.

* * *

Back in her suite of rooms near Gryffindor Tower she was grateful that her position as head girl afforded her some solitude. She needed it after being bombarded all day by unwanted mental intrusions. She had a stack of books to go over, everything from _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_ to _Diatribe on Potions Disasters _by Dougan Delphinium. The most interesting book, and perhaps the most surprising, was one from Snape's own collection. A slim guide on meditation which he'd said might help clear her mind and focus it to the point where she could block the feelings she didn't want. This might give her some control, let her, as he put it, "hear" the feelings she wanted. When he had phrased it that way she had laughed. Recalling his only response to her laugher, a single raised eyebrow, she grinned again. 

Sitting at her desk, staring at the piles of books in front of her without seeing them, she thought about her predicament. While it was highly distracting and rather inconvenient ('there were some things one simply didn't want to _know_ about one's classmates,' she thought wryly) she was strangely comforted by the fact she was going through this with someone. Even if that someone happened to be Snape. There were moments tonight when she felt a strange camaraderie with her elusive potions professor. A feeling that they were in this together. Which he every time managed to efficiently dispel with a cruel comment or otherwise scathing remark. For such a deeply private man, a man who probably held many secrets, the thought of her being able to read his emotions must be highly disconcerting. She wondered if there was any way of letting him know that she would never presume to judge him for his feelings. Probably not, it would simply make matters worse. Professor Snape was not the sort of man who talked about his feelings.

Laying back on her bed she opened the meditation guide and began to read.

The next morning at breakfast she sat at the Gryffindor table, trying to block out her fellow classmates emotions. It was extremely difficult, the breathing techniques she had read about the night before were, if anything, making matters worse. They had double Transfiguration that morning, but Hermione didn't think she could handle it. She was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything thanks to Ron's worries (he had an essay on disasters in human transfiguration he hadn't quite finished), Neville and Dean's amusement over a joke Seamus had just told (something about two trolls who walk into a bar), and Harry's brooding (there was an upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw that weekend). She felt the beginnings of a headache coming on and groaned as she realized the day hadn't even really started yet. Feeling queasy, she pushed up from the table and mumbled something about the infirmary. At Ron's inquiries she waved her hand weakly. "Headache," she said. "Will you tell Professor McGonagall I'm not feeling well?"

She made her way up to the infirmary, her headache lessening slightly as she left the Great Hall. Madam Pomfrey wasn't surprised to see her, and gave her a headache remedy, asking her to lie down. Now that there was no one around the breathing exercises she'd read about were doing a lot to calm her nerves and headache. She heard her heart rate slow and match the slow, patterned breathing that was meant to bring her brain to alpha rhythm. That was a mental state which was supposed to make her more suggestible. She tried to center her thoughts, but found them wandering in a pleasantly disordered manner. It suddenly occurred to her that few magical texts took brain wave patterns into account, and that the book Snape had loaned her must be a muggle text. That opened a line of thought on the man himself. She'd only a slight understanding of him, accumulated throughout her school career, but yesterday had shown her how little she really knew about him. He was a bastard and he was a spy for the Order of the Pheonix, that was all she had known. There was obviously a great deal to him that he never shared with anyone. The fact that she might be exposed to some part of him that he tried to keep hidden was both frightening and exhilarating. He was undoubtedly a brilliant man, and while she had many friends at Hogwarts, few of them were interested in discussing academic subjects with her. Perhaps Snape would be willing to see her as less of a pupil and more of a…if not a peer then at least more of an equal. She would settle for a friendship with him. She could settle for that.

* * *

That night, Hermione found herself once again in the lab, going over some notes on known interactions with fluxweed seed. She felt Snape coming long before she heard him, he was worried about something, and he was feeling extremely tired. 'Is _tired_ an actual emotion?' she thought amusedly to herself. Apparently it was. 

Before she had a chance to tell him what she had discovered in her reading, he asked her how the meditation went. Surprised that he didn't want to get immediately into the potions problem, she described doing the breathing exercises.

"But sir, I don't think they worked."

"Why?" he demanded.

"This morning I felt even more susceptible to everything around me. It felt like the techniques only made it harder to concentrate."

"You silly girl, you cannot learn overnight what some people struggle their entire lives to accomplish. You cannot possibly expect to read a few chapters out of a book and have it mastered. What I gave you was a _guide_, I never intended it to be your only source of information."

"Sir?"

He sighed loudly. "I am speaking about myself of course. While I am certainly no master, I am sufficiently versed in the art of meditation to get you started. I see we are to get no further on our experimentation today. Very well, there is no point in continuing if you are unable to concentrate for longer than two minutes thanks to your over emotional, mental-midget classmates. Put your notes away, and follow me." He swept out of the lab and into his office. He muttered something unintelligible to lower the wards, and she saw a door appear on the back wall. She walked through it to find a surprisingly relaxing sitting area—two worn, very comfortable looking leather chairs were grouped in front of a large open hearth. A small side table was literally overflowing with books and periodicals, mugs of cold tea and scraps of notes to himself. The stone floors were covered in deep plush rugs. She couldn't believe that he had a room that was so…cozy.

"You were expecting something a little more austere, Miss Granger? An Iron Maiden tucked away in the corner perhaps? Or maybe you thought I preferred to do my relaxing whilst on the rack." There was heavy sarcasm in his voice, but she felt some humor shining through. 'Good lord, did he just make a joke?' she thought incredulously. "No sir," she replied out loud, "this is a very comfortable room. I'm sure you take great pleasure in it."

"Yes, indeed." Something halfway between a grin and a grimace twisted his face, he pointed his wand at the fireplace and muttered a spell. "_Incendio_," and a fire blazed forth merrily, filling the room with a sudden warmth. "Please take a seat Miss Granger."

Hermione sat in one of the chairs, the one furthest from the table. She didn't want to take his own chair. She settled back into the deep leather, and suppressed a grin at the dull squeaks she inadvertently coaxed from it. Snape sat across from her, eyeing her intently. She felt his wave of nervousness wash over her.

"What we are about to do is…new to me. While I am a person who has always believed strongly in the powers and benefits of meditation, I cannot claim to know everything about it. I shall try to coach you through some of the more basic aspects, but at some point I will not be able to tell you what to do. Your success will rely mainly on your own strength of mind and determination. Not that you are lacking in those departments," he added with a trace of a sneer.

"I understand sir. Just tell me what to do."

"I shall coach you through the basic breathing exercises and mental routine. Much of this lies in your own creativity. Just lay back, close your eyes and try to relax."

Hermione leaned back even further into the chair. Two days ago the thought of someone telling her to close her eyes in the presence of Snape while remaining _relaxed_ would have been cause for hilarity. Today it didn't seem that strange of a concept. While she didn't find Snape to be the most pleasant of creatures, she realized suddenly that she did indeed trust him. It seemed so long ago, the day that she intentionally lit his robes with a blue fire, thinking that he was trying to kill Harry. She smothered a grin and tried to think of something else. Was there no end to the memories she didn't want him able to read from her?

He began to speak, in a voice she had never heard from him before, or even thought him capable of. It was a silky, soothing voice, extremely pleasant. He was telling her to relax and she felt herself calming immediately.

"I want you to concentrate on your breathing. Listen to your heartbeat. Breath in for two heartbeats, hold for one. Breath out for two heartbeats, hold for one. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out." Somehow his words managed to stay in time with her heartbeats as well, and she felt a strong compulsion to do what his soft voice was telling her. Her heart rate slowed slightly, her breaths becoming longer and deeper. From what she read last night this indicated she was now in alpha rhythm, but for the moment her mind was blessedly clear. All she could concentrate on was the feel of her chest expanding and contracting, the simple act of breathing which was so essential to life. She had never paid attention to it this closely before.

"Now I want you to clear your mind of all thought. You are to create for yourself a blank slate within your mind. Concentrate if you can on nothingness. If you realize you are experiencing conscious thoughts of any kind you will please return to this blank state. Forget about school. Forget about the accident. Forget about the war." With these words her heart rate picked back up, and a frown appeared on her face.

"Shh. Concentrate."

"Well I'm trying," she replied irritably, "but it's difficult when you remind me of little things like Voldemort." He ignored her. "Breath in for two beats, hold. Breath out for two beats, hold. Breath in, breath out." His voice remained silky, although she sensed his annoyance. She concentrated on her breathing and felt herself relaxing once more.

"Relax your mind. Concentrate on nothing. Relax. Relax." He began to lengthen his words, long and slow, barely whispering. Hermione felt herself drawing deeper and deeper into her own mind. Some thoughts came unbidden, random things that seemed to have no relevance. Her parents faces drifted through her mind, she saw Ron's expression this morning at breakfast. She thought about what it was like to experience the feelings of others; disconnected thoughts which she tried to clear away once she realized she was having them. It was strange, she would be thinking about something for quite a few moments before she was aware that she was doing it. Obviously shutting down the mind was not as easy as it looked. It was the constant gentle reminders from Snape that kept her focused. 'Usually I don't have a problem with focus,' she thought, before remembering to focus on nothing.

After some time Hermione felt herself in a state of mental quiet. Snape began describing a mental image that she would use to manage the foreign emotions. He told her about a place in her mind, somewhere she could find the answer to her problem. He would not be able to tell her where to find it, but he assured her it was there. As he spoke, an image rose unbidden to the forefront of her thoughts. A safe, flat grey iron with a black metal knob on the front rose in front of her. It had large, ornate hinges. Reaching out with her mind, the wheel on the safe began to spin. It clicked and the door swung silently open. She looked eagerly inside, hoping that the answer would be there. But the safe was empty. Dusty in fact, it looked as though it hadn't been opened in a long time. Disappointment flooded through her, and she realized abruptly that there was no safe at all, and that she was only sitting in Snape's sitting room. She sat up, blinking her eyes in the firelight.

"And what, _exactly_, was the point of that?" she asked angrily. "Clear your mind, concentrate on nothingness? You might as well ask me 'what's the sound of one hand clapping?'!"

Snape's eyes flashed, and his anger hit her like a ton of bricks. Anger and disappointment. "Well, it seems as though I have merely wasted both of our time. Good night Miss Granger." He stood and turned to walk out to the office. But before he could leave she was standing in front of him, finger pointed at him accusatorily.

"Am I to believe that you were trying to _help_ me? Or are you really just trying to make this harder on me?" Suddenly the thought of his helpful proposal the night before, that she try meditation as a method of maintaining her sanity, seemed a lot less helpful, and more like some dirty trick. How could she have thought that Snape had a shred of humanity in him? He really was the most deceitful, vile, unhappy person that she had ever had the misfortune to meet. She wanted to burst into tears, but the thought of crying in front of him, breaking down or showing even the slightest weakness was not an option.

He stared at her, then unexpectedly sat back down in his chair. "What did you see?" he sighed. She sat down slowly herself, unwilling to believe he was trying to be helpful. "What did you see?" he asked again, but with less patience. "I know you saw something, what was it?"

"I saw a safe," she snapped. "A big old fashioned safe. I remember seeing one in a movie once, a movie about Harry Houdini." She said it without thinking, but immediately realized it was true. While she knew that Harry Houdini had in fact been a muggle (she'd read about it in _Wizarding Developments of the 20th Century_), as was Tony Curtis who played him, she hadn't known that as a child when she'd seen it. Did her mind somehow subconsciously link that image to something significant? She thought about the scene with the safe, Tony Curtis shows his "magical" skill in court by getting a judge to lock him up inside a safe large enough to hold a man. The trick, he explains, is that safes aren't meant to be broken _out_ of, only meant to keep people from breaking in. She thought about the ramifications of that image.

"Harry Houdini," Snape scoffed. "What does that—"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "It means something. The image my mind came up with means something. But no," she realized sadly, "it's not important. There was nothing in the safe. Nevermind."

Snape looked as though he were barely restraining himself from shaking her. "Did it never occur to you that the _safe_ was the important thing, and not what might be inside?" She stared up at him. "Evidently not. Very well, here is your task for tonight. Do the breathing exercises we did tonight, and bring your mind to a blank state. Concentrate on the _safe_," he snidely put extra emphasis on the word, "and see what happens. You might be able to use it to lock away the feelings of your classmates. Try and channel the emotions you do not wish to feel directly into the safe. There they will be safely locked away and you can examine them at your leisure. For the moment you may have to channel all the extra emotions in there, until you are adept at dealing with them an a more selective level."

She thought about the idea of the safe for a while. Earlier she might have asked him how she was supposed to channel anything anywhere in her mind, but all her experiences tonight had given her an inkling of how this might be accomplished.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she said softly. "It should be like any other of our five senses. This is only different in a matter of degree. But why is it so difficult to deal with?"

"Imagine you are blind your whole life, then suddenly you are allowed to see." Hermione was surprised by his quiet tone which matched her own. "That would be just as disorienting, don't you think?"

"Professor, have you ever heard of onoacoustic emissions—a single high pitched tone that no one else can hear? It happens to me sometimes. It's not loud, it's not distracting. I have to listen hard just to hear it sometimes. It comes and goes," she clarified. "It's from feedback in the ear canal. No one really knows how or what causes it. But some people have it so severely that they would rather be deaf than be subjected to it." She paused, thinking. "I always wondered what that was like, to be affected by something so strongly, something no one else can experience. And now I am. People might start to think that I'm crazy, but that doesn't change the fact that I hear things no one else can. Except you I guess."

She suddenly felt absurd, and wondered what in the hell possessed her to tell him those things. It didn't help knowing he could sense her discomfort. She stood up, attempting a brisk, business-like tone. "Right then. I think I'll head back to my rooms and see what I can make with this. Goodnight, professor." She nodded at him, and moved towards the door. There she stopped, hesitating. "And professor," she said, her back still towards him. "I'm sorry if I thought that you were having me on before. That wasn't very fair."

He snorted, and she turned to give him a sideways look. "Believe me Miss Granger, I'm not worried about being treated fairly. If I was, I'd have faced a long lifetime's worth of disappointment."

It wasn't until she was halfway to her rooms that she realized that he might have been joking.

* * *

Hermione entered her suite, but its silence was something that she didn't want right now. It was unsettling dealing with Snape—his unexpected kindnesses tempered with his unique brand of dark, self-deprecating humor and outbursts of irritation and anger. Two days ago life had been simpler for many reasons. Then, Snape was a bastard and she couldn't stand him. But now she wasn't quite sure how she felt about him. Who was he? The git who took entirely too much pleasure in taking house points from Gryffindor, or the introspective man who could probably sit for hours concentrating on nothing. She snorted a bit at that mental picture. 

'What I need is a little bit of normalcy,' she thought. She turned and headed towards the Gryffindor Tower. It was still some time before curfew, so the common room would probably be somewhat empty. She was suddenly desperate to see Harry and Ron, and maybe she could practice meditating in the presence of other people.

She gave the password, _Filidae tigris_, and stepped through the concealed hole which was the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. She saw to her disappointment that neither Harry nor Ron were present. She waved to Neville and smiled at Parvati Patil who were studying by the windows. She sat in front of the fire and spread out the notes she had been looking at before her session with Snape. But instead of reading them she leaned back in the chair, her favorite in the room. Its worn, red velvet cushioned her head nicely, and she began to regulate her breathing. Before long she was breathing deeply and steadily, attempting to focus on nothing. It was more difficult without Snape's soft voice reminding her what she was supposed to be doing. However, she was very effective at cutting off the noise and feelings of those around her. Everything melted into the background, and her only difficulty was to remain focused internally. She brought up the image of the safe again, paying close attention to it this time. It was amazing the amount of detail her mind conjured into it, the dull sheen of its metal surface, a few minor scratches near the base. The black dial was covered in numbers, the white paint chipped in several places. She spun the dial open, noticing that she was unsure of the combination—she could get it to open, but didn't have the specific details of how it worked.

The safe was once again empty. Or was it? It was shining with a soft light. Did that have significance? She wished Snape was here so that she could ask him. But then she remembered he couldn't tell her exactly what she would see. She wondered what kind of image his mind would create.

Hermione realized that her mind had begun to drift once again, and she had lost the image of the safe. Bringing it back into the forefront of her mind she looked again inside. Yes, it was definitely filled with light. There was no discernible source, it simply glowed. She shut the safe and turned her focus outwards to the people in the room. Without opening her eyes she reached out for the feelings of her fellow Gryffindors. She was immediately hit with several conflicting emotions: anxiety, amusement, and momentary panic as someone stubbed their toe and pain coursed through them. She flinched at the barrage, but she focused on holding onto her meditative state. Her heart rate had picked up, and she had to calm it again before listening again to the emotions around her. This time she was a little better prepared, and managed to remain calm and centered. She concentrated on funneling the emotions she heard into the safe. It popped back into her mind, and she saw with some amusement that there was now a garden hose attached to the back of it, leading off somewhere in the darkness. She supposed that's how the emotions were getting in. Was it that simple? Did her mind need mental representation like that to affect change? And would something as simple as a hose save her from dealing with the emotions of those around her? It seemed too easy.

She was drifting off again. She focused on the safe, and opened it. It seemed to be slightly brighter.

Maybe it really was that simple. Hermione realized, however, that she was still feeling what everyone around her felt while trying to push that emotion into the safe. She tried it again, this time trying to push everything into the safe so that she didn't have to hear it. But no matter what she did, she could never completely block the thoughts and feelings from those around her.

Frustrated, she finally sat up. She looked around the room, disgruntled, it had somewhat filled up but Harry and Ron were still missing. She sat up and slammed her notes together. The startled feelings from her classmates irritated her and she made her way to the door without looking at anybody. She felt concern radiating from someone, maybe Neville. The portrait door opened just before she reached it, and Harry and Ron climbed through.

"Hermione! How are you feeling?"

"Urgh! Do _not_ ask me that!"

Ron looked at her levelly. She felt his irritation, but it was overlaid with concern for her.

"Well, obviously you're feeling well. What do you think Harry?"

Harry smirked. "Come on Hermione, you've been working too hard. Take a break and come play a game of Exploding Snap with us."

"Please," she said. "When have you _ever_ convinced me to play that idiotic game?" But she smiled as she said it.

Ron grabbed her hand and dragged her back over to the fireplace, plopping her down in the same chair. "Seriously Hermione, you've been acting really strange the past couple days. Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine, really," she sighed. "I've just been really tired lately. I've…I've started a research project with Professor Snape, and I haven't had much time to—"

"Snape?" Harry sputtered. "You're doing extra work with _Snape_? Whatever for?"

"Oh Harry, he's not really that bad."

"Not bad? Hermione, this is Snape we're talking about! Ron, back me up!"

"Snape, Hermione. _Snape_. As in, head of Slytherin. As in, the greasy git. As in, the bane of all our existence. How can you tell us _he's__not_ _that bad_?"

She was nearly overwhelmed by their disgust and horror for her. She put a hand on her temple to steady herself. Suddenly she wanted to cry.

"Please Ron," she whispered. "Don't shout at me."

"Oh Hermione." Ron sat on the arm of her chair and gave her a quick hug. "Sorry. But we're worried about you. If you're already having a hard time, why are you taking on extra work with Snape? What, did he poison you or something?" he asked jokingly. The sudden tension in her back was unmistakable, even through Ron's arm.

"No!" she said a little too quickly. "That's ridiculous, Ron."

Harry gave her a shrewd look. "Is this about the potions accident the other day?"

"Erm. Look, something happened but I can't really talk about it, all right?" She sighed at their obvious disapproval. "Really, I'm fine. I'm tired, but that's all. Snape didn't poison me. We're working together on a research project. Ok, ok, he's _letting_ me do a research project. Alright?"

"Alright." She knew they didn't really believe her, but there wasn't much they could do about it.

"I think I'm going back to my rooms. I need some sleep." She huffed at the skeptical looks on their faces, but didn't say anything about it. "Good night."

"Night, Hermione."

She picked up her books again and headed for her rooms. As she stepped through the fat lady's portrait she felt a little bit of acceptance from both Ron and Harry. She grinned in a small measure of relief and headed to bed in a considerably better mood.

* * *

A/N: Well, here's the first installment of my first Harry Potter fan fiction. I actually got the idea for this story based on another original fiction I am in the process of writing, and I thought it might be interesting to work out some of the intricacies in the Harry Potter Universe. So let me know what you think, if you like the idea of being suddenly and forcibly empathic; if I hit the nail on the head or if you think I'm waaaay off base. At the very least it's been pretty fun to write. Thanks! 


	2. chapter 2

Ch 2 

From his hidden study Severus Snape listened to Hermione's footsteps as they receded from the potions classroom. He sighed, unexpectedly drained from his dealings with her. While recent experiences were nothing that he had ever dreamed of or wanted, they were certainly opening a window of understanding onto one Miss Hermione Granger.

He sunk back into his chair, body and mind automatically reaching a state of calm meditative equilibrium—inevitable after so many years of practice. When he had first met her, Miss Granger had been a bossy, know-it-all student; one of those infuriating people whose attention seeking and inability to leave a question unanswered had irritated him to no end. In the last few years, however, she had seemed to grow into herself, or perhaps she now realized that allowing others to know the true extent of one's knowledge was not always wise. Personally, he found it dangerous, a lesson he had learned early on. In any case, her only fault in the classroom now was her constant interference with Neville Longbottom.

_That boy_. His teeth gritted automatically as he thought about his complete failure to get Longbottom to brew a potion correctly. No matter what he did, no matter how hard on the boy he was, he couldn't get a decent day's work out of him.

While his role as a double agent between the Order of the Phoenix and Lord Voldemort dictated a certain type of behavior towards his students, he could not honestly say that it did not have its merits. He knew that his students hated him and he knew that he was an utter bastard to anyone not wearing Slytherin robes. But potions could be a dangerous business, if you failed in doing it right you might die trying. In the process of frightening his classes into submission he decreased the chances of dangerous accidents. Usually.

He sighed again, thinking about Longbottom's experimental potion. He was so angry at himself for letting things get this out of control. He should have been more watchful of what Longbottom had been doing; he shouldn't have counted on Miss Granger to keep Longbottom from getting too far off base. He should have contained the cauldron before it exploded—the list went on and on for ways that he could have saved the situation. And now he was stuck, exposed to the innermost feelings of everyone around him.

He gave an involuntary shudder. It really was horrible, but Miss Granger was right, this might be very useful in the field. He had already mastered meditation in attempt to keep himself calm enough to escape detection. He had mastered Occlumency to keep his thoughts from the Dark Lord. He could master this as well. He was already on his way to doing so, truth be told. The day of the accident had been hell, but since then he had almost subconsciously been blocking the emotions of those around him.

Which was a good thing, considering. He had spent the last 25 years of his life involved with a sickening subculture of the wizarding world, a group of people whose jaded nature and capacity for mayhem had brought him to the point of nausea on more than one occasion. He had long ago become immune to the feelings of others. The rapes and tortures that characterized Death Eater dark revels were enough to bring anyone to their knees, and if he hadn't been able to shut off his own capacity for compassion or pity he would have gone mad. He had not dealt in the realm of emotion for so long that he was finding himself easily lost. Why would someone rely on emotion, something which by nature was so changeable and imprecise? Especially when logic could be used, and when cold decisions had to be made. Being suddenly thrust back into a world that he had long ago turned away from was at the very least confusing, and he was glad that he had easily been able to, if not completely mute, then at least dull considerably, the emotions of those around him.

With everyone but Miss Granger. Her feelings were still as strong as ever. Why? Maintaining his even breathing, his mind floated through the many possibilities. Perhaps it had something to do with their close proximity during the explosion. Perhaps it was due to the nature of Miss Granger's unexpectedly volatile nature. Or perhaps he didn't want to be blocked from her, so his mind was letting her filter through. He sat up, startled. 'Could I…?' he thought. But no, that was impossible. Why would he want to know how Hermione Granger was feeling? Why indeed?

He thought about that moment in the Headmaster's office when she had surprised him with that seething anger. Apparently she was well adept at hiding her own emotion; he had never guessed at the depth of feeling she was capable of based on the implacable mask she seemed to wear around him. Thinking hard, he realized he could not remember the last time he had brought her to tears.

Perhaps that was why he was particularly cruel to her in regards to Longbottom. In trying to elicit _some_ response from her he had apparently stepped over some line. Somewhere in the vicinity of helpless anger and rage. A feeling he knew all too well.

Control was a touchy subject for him. His life was in many ways chaotic and dangerous, so he held a rigid grasp over as many other areas as he could. The classroom was certainly a major aspect of that, but it extended into all areas of his life. He kept his own thoughts under a tight leash, in his potion making he was precise and efficient, even his private library was organized and impeccably straight—not a book out of line or out of place. He had always kept his colleagues at arm's length, with the exception of the Headmaster. And even that was a relationship based on something other than friendship. Trust, yes. Need, certainly. But true friendship, companionship? No. Friendship, relationships, _entanglements_, they all led to a lessening of control. And that was something that he could not afford to be without. His life depended on it.

So why was one evening with Hermione Granger enough to drain him practically to the point of exhaustion? The realization that Miss Granger was a person outside of the classroom was something of a shock. Well, if not a shock then at least an uncomfortable moment. He had to admit that perhaps she did not always deserve to be treated in the manner he usually did. A further uncomfortable thought was that he could not afford to change his behavior towards her now; not only would it be unbecoming to the persona he had carefully crafted, but the Headmaster had expressly told them not to draw attention to their predicament. So, to the outside world, nothing will have changed between them. Easily done. But how to act with her while alone, in these disturbingly intimate settings?

He groaned softly to himself. What had possessed him to give her a book on meditation? And then offer her private lessons in mind awareness? In a moment of weakness and a rare show of solidarity he had acknowledged to himself that they were in an impossible situation _together_; and that had prompted him to want to help her in her struggle. He just hoped it would not be the start of something dangerous. 'Or the end of my sanity,' he thought wryly, a grin cracking his face.

Hermione awoke early the next morning, she wanted to meditate before going into the Great Hall for breakfast. She thought that maybe if she had a chance to center herself before facing the barrage of emotions from her classmates it might be easier to handle. Or it might give her an edge on focusing the feelings into her mental safe without directly experiencing them.

Getting out of her warm bed was, unfortunately, the only way to concentrate without falling back asleep. She shivered her way over to the fire blazing merrily in the fireplace, its warmth slowly penetrating her goosebumpy arms. Deciding to sit in her study chair, which was comfortable without being _too_ comfortable, she dragged it in front of the fire. Twenty minutes later she felt calm and relaxed, yet awake and ready to face the day.

At breakfast she wasn't able to completely funnel her friends' emotions away from her conscious mind. She still could hear those people closest to her, and everything else melted into a cacophony. It actually wasn't much different from what her ears heard in the Great Hall, except she was the only one who knew that Neville was disgusted with the way Seamus slurped down his eggs, and Natalie McDonald, a fourth year sitting a few seats down, had a crush on Parvati Patil of all people.

She received a giant shock when Ginny flopped down next to Ron. From Ginny there was the old hurt of unrequited love which she didn't have to feel to know about—she and Ginny had talked about it many times. She knew her friend was resigned to friendship with Harry, and that she had tried to let go of her hurt and anger a long time ago. What she _didn't_ know was why there was a slight anxiety coming from Harry. He smiled and greeted Ginny, but she felt his nervousness ratchet up as she smiled back.

"Harry?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously. She wasn't exactly sure of what his feelings meant, and she wished briefly that she had the ability to read thoughts as well.

"What?" he replied, looking surprised.

"I thought you…" she trailed off, uncertain how or if she should continue. _I thought you didn't like Ginny like that_, probably wouldn't go over so well. Not to mention it might put two of her best friends in rather awkward situations. "Erm, nevermind. I was going to say, erm, I thought you didn't like strawberry jam on your toast, but then I remembered that you _do_ like strawberry jam on your toast, in fact, I completely forgot that you _only_ eat strawberry jam on your—"

"Woah, Hermione, take a breath! You're rambling." Ron laughed, spraying the tablecloth with crumbs.

"Ron!" Ginny's disgusted face spoke for itself. "Do you mind? I'm trying to eat over here. Honestly! You'd never know that you're of age and almost out of Hogwarts!"

"Srrry," mumbled Ron, through an even larger mouthful. Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry, and Hermione felt his nervousness hitch up again. It was so strong, Hermione felt her own stomach drop as she unintentionally sympathized with her friend.

She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on blocking out the feelings. It worked, after a fashion, and as she opened her eyes she caught Snape staring intently at her from the Head table. She gave him a faint smile and turned back to her own food.

Today was Friday, which meant she had Double Arithmancy with Ravenclaw and Double Advanced Potions with Slytherin. The Arithmancy class wouldn't be too bad, the Ravenclaws were always rather focused on the lesson, so she wouldn't have to deal with any errant emotions. But that afternoon would be the first time she would be around Snape in the classroom, and it was causing her some anxiety. She was having such a hard time reconciling the person she thought he was with the person he seemed to truly be. Or perhaps the person he allowed himself to be might be a better way of looking at it. When it was just the two of them working through a shared situation, he could allow himself to open up a little. Their forced intimacy must be affecting that, Hermione knew for a fact that in their fifth year when Harry spent significant amounts of time alone with Snape he was even more of a bastard than he usually was.

But seeing him in the classroom was going to throw yet another monkey wrench into the works; she was sure that he was going to be relentlessly cruel to Neville and probably to herself as well.

With a sigh she made her way to the Arithmancy classroom, so lost in thought she failed to notice that the swirling emotions of her classmates weren't effecting her nearly as strongly.

During Arithmancy she paid attention on the lesson, and for once the feelings of her peers was helpful instead of distracting. The academic Ravenclaws were focused on what they were learning, and that intensity translated over to her and caused her to feel more focused as well. There were a few moments when other feelings broke into her mind, but for the most part she was able to handle it.

On her way to potions later that afternoon the swirl of feelings from her classmates were not enough to overcome her own nervousness in coming face to face with Snape during class. She was smart enough to realize that his behavior towards his students was mainly a façade and she was sensitive enough to know that he probably didn't take too much pleasure in it. Maybe. She hoped. A Severus Snape who was thoughtful enough to help her protect herself from the emotions of those around her was hard to reconcile with a Severus Snape who actively hated nearly all his students and took vindictive pleasure in their defeats. Intellectually she knew that he would not treat her any differently, but her heart had a more difficult time coming to grips with it.

She gave a violent shiver as she neared the dungeons; the temperature and her own nerves each contributing to her discomfort. She heard a babble of low murmurs as she entered the room, and, with a sigh, took the only available seat on the Gryffindor side. Right next to Neville. As Hermione forced herself to give him a small smile she could hardly believe it had only been a few days since she'd been there last.

"Hermione, I just wanted to say again how sorry—" began Neville.

"Neville, please. Don't worry about it. There was no … harm … done. I'm really fine, you mustn't keep apologizing about it."

Harry and Ron were listening from their neighboring table. "Are you sure Hermione? You _have_ been acting a little odd the last few days," said Ron.

"I already told you, I just feel a little overworked, that's all."

"Then why are you doing extra potions?"

Ron sounded exasperated, and Hermione could tell how baffled he was with her behavior. She had to suppress a smirk. If only he knew that those extra "lessons" were the only thing keeping her sane at the moment. "Ron," she said, forcing a long suffering tone into her voice, "I don't know if you've ever noticed, but I _like_ potions. I may not like the environment as such, but the act of making potions is extremely therapeutic to me. So please, just trust me on this. It's not the extra potions. It's everything else."

"All right Hermione, we believe you."

She reached across the isle to briefly squeeze Ron's hand; unfortunately Professor Snape chose that moment to come sweeping into the classroom.

"As touching as this display is Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, I would appreciate you not exhibiting yourselves so _openly_ in my classroom. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Hermione pulled her hand back. Her face burned as she seethed quietly to herself. He knew that she and Ron didn't have any kind of romantic relationship. He must be able to feel that the only thing she felt for Ron was a strong brotherly kind of affection. Yet the tone of his voice suggested that they would be snogging on his desk if they had half the chance. She felt Ron's sense of injustice flare next to her as she stared at Snape's back with pure hatred. His back stiffened under her gaze for a moment before moving to stand in front of his desk. Turning smoothly to face them he waved his wand at the board.

"Today we will once again attempt the Filan potion. Mr. Longbottom, be forewarned. If you cannot produce a perfect potion by the end of class you will leave and never come back. Is that clear?"

Neville quickly nodded his assent, Snape sneering at his sudden panic.

"Very well. The instructions are on the board for those who cannot remember from last time." He glowered at them briefly before storming around and sitting at his desk. His eyes glittered darkly as they surveyed people setting up their tools and making trips to the supply cabinet.

Hermione set out the tools she needed for this potion, scanning the list of ingredients on the board to see if there was anything else she needed. It was difficult to concentrate over her feelings about the man at the front of the class, not to mention the waves of indignation from the Gryffindors going directly into her brain and colliding with the malicious pleasure coming from the Slytherins.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry hissed to her left. "Are you mad?"

She realized that she was staring with utter hatred at her Professor who was working resolutely on papers at his desk. Her potions supplies lay forgotten on her table.

His head had snapped up at Harry's whisper, and his eyes locked onto Hermione's.

"Is there something you need help with Miss Granger?" he asked, his tone positively frigid.

"No, _sir_."

"Then I suggest you get to work." His displeasure washed over her, jacking up her own levels of irritation. She turned to the supplies in front of her, determined to brew the finest potion of her academic career. She spent the next two hours chopping, diluting, brewing, infusing, fermenting, preparing and drafting. She was so focused on shredding her dandelion stems in order to extract the precious juice that a bead of sweat formed across her nose, even in the cold damp of the dungeons. For once she paid no attention to Neville, not even the snickering from the Slytherins across the dungeon could distract her.

At the end of the lesson, her potion was absolutely perfect. She stirred it with a critical eye, but there was nothing that even Professor Snape could find fault with. She finally looked over to Neville's effort, and was relieved to see that his potion, if not the exact correct color, was at least the right consistency.

Professor Snape swept by to examine each cauldron, pausing before both Hermione and Neville. He glared into Neville's cauldron, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "_satisfactory_." In front of her cauldron he merely lifted an eyebrow for a moment and moved on.

That made her more angry than anything else so far. Her stomach was literally burning with rage. She glared at Snape as he stalked around the rest of the tables, oblivious to everything but him. He pointedly ignored her, although from what she could feel from him he was completely aware of what she was doing. He caught her eye for a split second but looked away just as she registered the momentary sense of shame. Now she was so confused now by him that her rage suddenly dissipated.

"Everyone is to take a draught of their potion. Everyone, that is, except you." He pointed a long, white finger at Hermione. She knew why he didn't want her to take it, but he made it sound as if she had botched up her potion.

Hermione sat back on her stool with a sigh as everyone tasted a sample of their potions.

"No one poisoned? Not even you Potter?" he sneered.

The bell rang and she was lost in the noise of everyone gathering their books and putting away their supplies.

"Quiet!" Snape roared above the sudden noise. "I want a sample of everyone's potion on my desk before you leave. And Miss Granger, come see me for a moment." His imperious tone left no room for argument.

Hermione nodded weakly and bottled a sample of her potion. She walked slowly to his desk, wondering if he was going to apologize to her.

"Don't forget that we have a meeting tonight. 7 o'clock. And don't be late."

Hermione blinked. "Is that all, sir?"

"Yes," he exhaled noisily. "That is indeed all Miss Granger."

She nodded and turned to leave, completely perplexed by his behavior. Knowing what he was feeling only served to cloud her judgements of him, not make things clearer. She headed to dinner, in such a daze that she didn't notice Harry and Ron's worried looks. It wasn't until halfway through dinner when she was surprised by a wave of panic which bolted through her when Dean Thomas bit down painfully on a chicken bone that she realized she hadn't felt anyone except Snape since Potions started.

* * *

AN: Sorry this took so long to get up. It's only about half as long, but I thought this was a nice ending point. 

Transylvanian: I hope I was able to answer your question!

EvieBlack and Perdita Bly: Thank you, I'm finding it a lot more difficult than I thought to get their voices right.

Thank you to everyone else who read and reviewed this story. More is on the way!

displacement


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